"I can't believe the festival is tomorrow already," Ojiro commented as he opened his lunch. "Time

flew."

"And I still can't dance," Shouji sighed. "You make it look so easy... but you only have four--or five--limbs to worry about."

Yeah, the extra arms were clearly hard to work with. "And I have the advantage of knowing how to dance without ever having learned," Izuku agreed sympathetically.

"Wait, what?" Kirishima appeared over Ojiro's shoulder. He joined them for lunch occasionally.

"It's not something he likes to talk about," Shouji told Kirishima. The red head raised an eyebrow. This was just great. Now there was going to be some conspiracy theory that Izuku was an android programmed to know how to dance or something equally ridiculous.

Katsuki dragged himself to the table and slumped forward, head upon his hands, such a dejected look on his face that conversation stopped dead as if shot between the eyes. "Kacchan?" Izuku asked. "What's...?"

"Are you okay, man?" Kirishima asked. "I... you don't have any food do you want me to get some?"

The explosive student shook his head. "I suppose you'll all hear it on the news sometime today... Best Jeanist is dead."

"Oh," Ojiro sighed. "I thought that might be, but I'd hoped I was wrong."

Izuku felt tears of rage and sorrow bud in his eyes. That just... wasn't fair. It had been long enough that it had seemed certain that all the heroes who survived All For One's mauling at Kamino were

going to recover. Poor Kacchan... Izuku was only losing his number three hero. Katsuki was losing a mentor and friend. "Sorry," Ojiro said, pulling Kacchan into a side hug... which was not immediately met with an explosion to the face. Wow, Izuku's old friend must really feel utterly wretched.

"It seemed like they were all going to recover," Kirishima said, voice stunned and toneless, "I was sure..."

Katsuki snorted. "He didn't die from Kamino. He was assassinated." The entire table twitched. What? No... no way! There would have been guards at the hero's door and watching the windows every moment of every day! Other heroes and HPSC guards... "Gang Orca was loudly planning to go throttle the fucking useless assigned guard detail this evening... I wish I could go along... A bunch of their sidekicks are debating whether to show up to stop him or show up with pitchforks. I know which I'd choose."

"We chose a scary time to enter the hero business," Ojiro said quietly. "A year ago... I couldn't picture a villain who could go toe to toe with All Might. Yesterday I couldn't imagine a top ten pro being assassinated while hospitalized..."

"What comes along tomorrow?" Shouji muttered.

"Why is the world like this?" Izuku asked nobody. "Why do people... want to hurt each other all the time? What does it accomplish?" He thought back on the first vision where he identified himself as Bit Weasel, when Switcher and the teletechnopath talked about the seemingly senseless violence of the war, Bit Weasel expressing her exhaustion with the conflict, Switcher pointing out that the war was ending on favorable terms in some places, that they were fighting for something that could be achieved. The violence that heroes fought against in modern Japan... some of the enemy groups seemed to have points they wanted to make, but those points always boiled down to "we want money, fame, respect, and the right do whatever we want with impunity while everyone else cringes in terror." How could that be worth killing for? Did murderous villains not feel it when they ended a life? Did it not haunt them the way Hirano's dying breaths haunted Izuku? How could... how could you claim to be human and not feel that horror?

"I don't know," Shouji sighed, pulling Izuku back to the real world. "I can't believe this, though... Just like All Might, Best Jeanist's always been on the billboard, feels like as long as I can remember and now he's gone just like that..."

"More than that, he always seemed really nice, if a bit eccentric..." Ojiro poked his food, tail curled protectively against his back.

"Eccentric yes, so... so weird... but really nice once you got used to the ambiguous, deadpan sarcasm," Katsuki agreed. "I'm so miserable I don't even know what to do with myself," the blonde added almost nonchalantly.

"Just go to class and take notes. You'll end up with good notes, usually, even though you weren't really present for the lecture," Izuku advised. "It's what I usually do."

"What you... usually do when you're too miserable to know what to do with yourself?" Kirishima asked the greenette with concern.

"As everyone keeps saying, I have a Dark and Shadowy past," Izuku sighed. He'd walked into that, forgetting again that Kirishima was here and not in on the secret of his traumatic backstory. It was a traumatic backstory at this point, wasn't it? And becoming more traumatic all the time.

Best Jeanist's death was officially announced by the HPSC that evening. Izuku decided to avoid any and all news media for the foreseeable future. Kacchan, choosing the polar opposite coping strategy, turned on the common room television to Channel 7, everyone's least favorite channel, and screamed at the anchors when they got things "wrong" or were "rude" or "bigoted" or "shallow, sensationalist, scumbag bastards." Hopefully it helped.

The world continued spinning on schedule.

Izuku flitted, butterfly like, through the Cultural Festival, unwilling to miss a single class's performance. Class 1-B put on a play. A really weird play... with lots of people yelling and dashing around with swords. It was an original production, but it was unclear which member of the class wrote the script. Although what happened in the final act was something of a mystery wrapped up in layers upon layers of nuanced dialogue, it was a pretty good production overall. The costumes were especially nice. Someone had spent a long time sewing those.

The senior support class, 3-H, had set up an entire go kart course. Izuku wished the line were shorter... he didn't have time to wait but wow those were cool vehicles. One of them was a little bit too much like a real, flying shark for comfort (which, of course, made it more awesome than all the less disturbing, ground-going carts). "I wish I could drive that one."

Tsu and Aizawa passed by with Eri. The little girl didn't recognize Izuku, of course. She only knew Aoki's face. That wasn't important, though. Izuku had played a key part in rescuing her from that hell hole and now here she was, riding on Tsu's shoulders and licking a candy apple, the tiniest hints of a smile spreading across her face.

The time for 1-A's performance approached stealthily at first, stalking in closer, then pounced without warning. Izuku had to run to make it to the stage on time. He kept pace with his fellow dancers as Jirou serenaded the entire school. She had one of the most incredible voices Izuku had ever heard in person and now, as she went all out for the final performance, she sang like a siren.

Kacchan seemed to be particularly angry with his drums--of course he was. If his excessively vicious blows affected the performance at all the net impact was positive.

The short song seemed to drag on forever as Izuku focused on keeping coordinated with the rest of the dancers, but once it was over it was as if the performance had never happened at all. Time was weird like that, speeding up and slowing down at the whims of emotion.

Tsu rejoined Aizawa and Eri as the performers cleaned up and left the venue. The little girl was truly smiling now. That was painfully adorable. He felt a twinge in his chest and tried to shove it aside. It was a fact of life that his career would lead him into the darkest of places to drag others out but would preclude him participating in this part of the survivors' stories--the part where the liberated went home and built themselves new lives. That smile was the important part. The never- seen-again rescuer was a role Izuku would play time and time again in his line of work and that was just fine. It was fine as long as there were people like Tsu and Aizawa in the world, people to pick up the pieces of a life once the battle was over.

Izuku continued to walk as he mused on his bittersweet destiny and accidentally bumped into a tall, silver haired man. "Oh, sorry. I'm so sorry, sir, I was distracted!" Izuku babbled.

"No harm done, young man..."

"Huh... do I know you?" Izuku swore he recognized that voice.

The man drew his collar more tightly about his face. "I doubt it, young man. I'm not particularly memorable... You... likely wouldn't remember me."

Well... okay. That was a little weird but whatever. Izuku shrugged. "Enjoy the festival!" "You as well."

Later, there was some hubbub because someone called "Gentle Criminal" had snuck into the UA Cultural Festival. UA pointed out that, as the Festival was open to the public, this was no great feat. UA also pointed out that the only thing Gentle Criminal had done was take a few pictures, purchase some popcorn and clap politely at student performances. In Nedzu's words, "if all guests were as well behaved as him, we could significantly reduce the amount of security on site during the festivities."

There was a knock on Izuku's door that evening as he prepared for bed. "Who's there?" "It's me, nerd."

"Come in," Izuku went to unbolt his door.

Kacchan slunk in. It looked as if an entire typhoon worth of storm clouds pursued him. Izuku knew that feeling all too well. The blonde took a seat on the rug and sighed. "The performance was good."

"Yeah."

"I hate everything right now, though, so I don't really care." Izuku nodded. "I'm really sorry about Best Jeanist."

"Yeah, everybody is... but most people aren't sorry about Hakamata Tsunagu which is a really different thing, turns out. It's infuriating. "Oh, we're all so sad," says that bubble head on Channel Seven. Fuck. You. You don't even know who you're talking about. That's clear enough from all the medieval bullshit you spout."

Izuku nodded. He knew that feeling, or a similar one, from trying to process Kuma's death... though he had mostly skipped all the stages of grief save anger and... it seemed like she wasn't really dead because he remembered her so vividly, seeing new bits and pieces of her life... it was like she was still there. Thinking about Influx, who he hadn't interacted with much, actually hurt more, perhaps because of what her tragic fate did to poor Epona.

"I keep thinking back to those days when I was reading that war history book, Rise and Fall, at the

agency and Hakamata kept glancing over my shoulder and saying, "the spread of misinformation on these topics is truly appalling. It makes one wonder what kinds of egregious mistakes are made in history classes these days,"" Kacchan tried to imitate Jeanist's lilting voice and only succeeded in sounding like the stereotypical gay character from an American sitcom. Izuku huffed, covering his smile. ""It is not as if the abilities of the majority of the MLA's generals were not demonstrated in full view of cameras on numerous occasions, and yet their descriptions are flawed or fundamentally inaccurate in every single case. Truly unacceptable, and yet this is the definitive resource. What is this world coming to?"" Izuku giggled, and even Katsuki cracked a smile.

"I thought most of the general's descriptions in that book were pretty accurate," Izuku replied.

"He did not agree with you," Katsuki shook his head. "That was pretty much a direct quote; not sure how wrong any of it really is but it made him mad 'cause he liked to be a perfectionist."

"But how would he even know it was wrong?" Izuku asked, eyebrow raised.

Katsuki shrugged. "Dunno." He cocked his head in consideration. "I did pick up on the fact that he definitely wasn't born in Japan but just let people assume he was. MLA War history's taught differently elsewhere maybe?"

"Oh yes," Izuku nodded. "But I don't see why he couldn't have been wrong about the book being wrong..."

Katsuki shook his head. "Whatever. It's such a weird memory to not be able to let go, but..." "I have some of those," Izuku agreed. Snowball fights... "It's not about logic I guess."

"Yeah. It was just so... I don't know." There was a long pause, Katsuki pulling fibers from the rug and tossing them haphazardly over his shoulder. "I got a funeral invite. I figured I'd go to a few funerals in this job... didn't think it'd be my first damn year of school, though. It's not fair," he hissed, "that the moment we show up on the scene everything goes to hell and suddenly the whole world sucks." That seemed to be a more general observation of the universe, not just a reaction to Best Jeanist's murder.

"I'm pretty sure it's always been this way, Kacchan," Izuku replied. "We were just too young and inexperienced to notice."

"Why's it have to be this way then?" Katsuki complained. It was unclear whether he'd ignored Izuku's comment or not. "Why do people have to be bastards?"

"I guess... I don't know," Izuku sighed. He'd asked his friends more or less this same question just a day ago. People like Overhaul... what went on in their heads to make them do things like torture little girls? "I don't understand why... or maybe I do. I understand what it's like to be angry enough to murder someone in cold blood, but that was... the reason for that was because of what had already been done... I wonder if it's all one big cycle? Sometime a million years ago someone had a bad day and took it out on someone else, then that person took it out on someone else, then that person got revenge and it just turned into one big chain of hatred, retaliation becoming more extreme and brutal and spreading as the years went by."

Katsuki nodded to himself. "We should travel back in time and find that idiot who had a bad day and took it out on somebody... and we should smash his face in. Or her face in."

Izuku nearly laughed. "I don't think that would help, Kacchan."

"Well, just 'cause it's hopeless doesn't mean we shouldn't try," the blonde complained.

"Somebody has to or it all goes to hell, right?"

"I don't think it's hopeless," Izuku replied. "There's always some hope, but even if there weren't, yeah it would still be worth trying." It was strange to be the one offering comfort for a change. Usually Izuku leaned on Katsuki these days. And he wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about anymore. What might or might not be hopeless? The world in general?

Joint training with 1-B tomorrow... that should be fun. The Cultural Festival just barely behind them, they already had more excitement scheduled--not that Izuku didn't get more than his fill of excitement without UA creating it. Rumor had it one of the general education students who wanted to transfer would be joining the exercise. How had that rumor started? How many people had access to that information and were liable to gossip?

Izuku mused on this triviality as he set out for a run around UA grounds. The school was enormous with its own private forest (forests, really) and countless paths. There were one hundred and twelve loops of appropriate length for Izuku to jog, although most of them were only slightly rather than fundamentally different. He was going to try each and every one of them regardless. He already had a good start.

The greenette trotted through the trees, moving slowly through a rocky section to avoid risking an ankle. A UA third year crossed the path ahead of him, heading deeper into the western woods. Izuku set out on a long trail which looped towards the USJ. Grass grew high in waving, tufted tails on either side and short, tenacious varieties carpeted the path itself.

The return trip always seemed faster, probably a good thing as Izuku had not really intended to go so far and fought against fatigue; he'd taken a wrong turn and extended his run significantly. The sun set and a full moon glittered an eerie silver in the fading ruby twilight.

UA was one of the safest places in Japan, but something felt off... Izuku found himself checking over his shoulder embarrassingly often. He hadn't meant to be out this late and didn't have a real flashlight with him, only an emergency LED on his key chain, so the glances backwards into the encroaching dark weren't doing him much good.

He should have paid more attention to what was going on in front of him. He skidded to a halt by instinct, taking a moment to process who and what was standing in front of him.

"You."

"That's not funny, False Flag," Izuku groused. What was she doing here? She must be looking for him, else she wouldn't be out on these trails, but what was this about? It must be really important or she would have waited until the morning.

"Wouldn't that be nice." The voice was identical to that the changeling imitated. What was it

exactly that, upon hearing a sentence rather than a single word, made it so instantly, viscerally obvious that this was not False Flag? Perhaps the ache in his arm... like a lock remembering the touch of a key, flesh remembered the touch of her teeth.

"How did you even get in here, War Dog?" he asked her, taking a subtle step backwards and calculating how quickly she could reach him versus how quickly he could reach the switchblade in his jacket pocket. It wasn't paranoia if people were really out to get you (and boy were people ever out to get him--even dead people were out to get him).

"What's it to you?"

"I'd like to stop you from doing it again?" Izuku said. Was that not obvious?

"Admirable honesty. If I'd come here to kill you this would be over already. Alone and... more or less unarmed... you stand no chance against me."

Fair points. "Then why are you here?"

"I owe you an apology," War Dog replied and Izuku's brain shorted out. "Oh really?"

"It took me quite a while to piece it together," the vigilante told him, tail swishing back and forth like a hypnotist's pendulum. "I found you in a snake den and assumed you were one of them... when in fact you were like me, a snake eater, a mongoose after the cobra's neck. You didn't deserve the bite you got for your trouble, either of you."

War Dog knew what was going on here. War Dog actually knew what was going on here. "Either of us? Who... who else was there? With me, I mean." Please answer the question rather than getting offended and killing him. The apology had shattered Izuku's dread of impending doom, but this situation could change on a dime.

War Dog's ears pricked and she started at him with wide eyes... he'd seen her before. Not False Flag pretending to be her... not in a dream... he'd seen War Dog's human form somewhere, he knew it, but what were the chances of him ever placing that? "You don't know?" she barked incredulously.

Izuku shook his head. "I just remember bits and pieces, things that might have happened to me, things that definitely didn't but must have happened to someone else..." That was way more than he had intended to say. He'd blame the indiscretion on the strange feeling of dissociation that he was experiencing in place of panic.

"Nobody left you a note?" War Dog demanded.

"I mean, no, was someone supposed--"

"Midoirya!" a shrill voice called. He caught a strange scent and-- Woke up in the infirmary.